


A Party of Two

by variableIntroversion



Series: After The End Of The World [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Illustrated, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Self Loathing, commisseratory movie night tbh, to a smaller degree this time around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variableIntroversion/pseuds/variableIntroversion
Summary: When local festivities make you miserable, what's a guy to do but text his ro-bro for some company and commissary?
Relationships: Auto-Responder | Lil Hal & Davesprite, Auto-Responder | Lil Hal ♦ Davesprite, Auto-Responder | Lil Hal/Davesprite
Series: After The End Of The World [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528694
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	A Party of Two

Today is making a spectacular play at draining all of your willpower to give a singular shit about anything. There's a festival going on in town, something about celebrating the third year of the heroes' return. A very loud, very brightly colored festival that's practically sensory overload personified. As if it wasn't already salt in the wound. Whoopee, it's the anniversary of the day you were left completely and utterly alone for five thousand years because you were a sulking asshole.

And what are you doing right now? Sulking like an asshole. You're practically buried in your nest, headphones on and music playing probably too loud to be healthy. Not like you care, you've got some prime teenage moping to indulge in.

Your thoughts are pretty much going in a downwards spiral, frankly. You wouldn't be able to hear the stupid celebration if you hibernated. But Hal might message you. But he's probably celebrating too and won't be online. He might not even care if you never replied and just brush you off as a rude bitch and move on. Maybe he should, maybe it's better that way. Maybe being doomed now doesn't mean you'll die, just that you're bound to ruin anything good in your life no matter what. At least if you slept, you wouldn't have to deal with any of that. At least when you were sleeping, you didn't feel awful about everything.

In the same breath, there's still that small part of you that doesn't want to keep rolling over every time your life gets tough. And what a stupid thing to give up over. One day of festivities you feel bitter about? Really? When did you get so easy to wear down?

Or maybe this is just the last straw on the camel's back. That would be the kind answer, instead of tearing into yourself for this. Not that you've ever been particularly good at being kind to yourself. You aren't sure if you even know how anymore.

The first step is probably making sure you don't fall back into bad coping mechanisms. Unfortunately, your solution to that makes you feel like a shitty friend.

TG: so how are the festivities going

You shouldn't expect an answer. Hal is probably busy, and you're liable to just dampen the mood like you always do. Possibly make him feel obligated to put up with your dreary bullshit instead of just enjoying himself. This was a terrible idea, you're a terrible person, and- oh hey, he answered.

TT: You'd have to ask somebody in actual attendance.  
TT: Perhaps one of the relevant heroes who serve as the centerpiece to this garish clusterfuck of social obligation.

Oh. Oh, wow, he's pretty miffed. You shouldn't feel even slightly gratified about that, but nobody said you were a great person.

TG: not a fan of it either huh  
TT: Whatever could have tipped you off.  
TT: I take it you're having similar issues?  
TG: and then some i guess  
TG: its like a triple whammy of bullshit  
TT: Triple?  
TT: ...Ah. I see. Are you alright?  
TG: yeah totally fine why wouldn't i be  
TG: not feeling supremely shitty whatsoever or anything  
TT: Clearly the paragon of happiness.  
TG: obviously  
TT: Well, since it seems that neither of us have an iota of interest in partying it up, I could come over. I've got some kickass flicks on my laptop, if you're interested.  
TG: that  
TG: yeah that sounds good  
TT: Awesome. I should arrive in approximately twenty-seven minutes, provided a stray firework doesn't happen to knock me out of the sky.  
TG: it would be a pretty ironic way to go out  
TT: True. In the very unlikely event that I should meet my end, I will have it be nothing shy of peak irony.  
TG: its a condition of being a strider  
TG: we cant be killed unless the death is ironic enough  
TT: Evidently.

The conversation drifts away from that topic soon, thankfully, and meanders into less potentially depressing territory. Hal doesn't really stop texting you the whole time, which you'd worry about with just about anyone else travelling via rocket board. He's the exception on virtue of probably being the most capable multitasker this side of paradox space, though.

It doesn't really feel like thirty minutes before he tells you he's at the door. You tell him to come in, and listen to the faint click-thunk, then strain your ears to pick up on his footsteps. You've always had sharp hearing, and it only got better when you became a sprite, but you still barely pick up on the whisper-quiet sound a second before Hal appears in your bedroom doorway. You aren't sure why you expected any different, all things considered.

"You should really do something about your home security, bro. Who knows what kind of weirdos could take advantage of an unlocked front door." Is what he says, instead of 'hello'.

"Yeah. I can't imagine what kinds of strange people might wander in." You answer, because 'hellos' are redundant at this point anyway, and you're too busy giving him a pointed once-over. He cracks a smile, smug and unbothered, and saunters over.

"Exactly." And then the asshole plunks down in your nest, no warning given. You maybe squawk a little literally, flapping your wings a couple times on reflex before managing to reign them in. The good news is, you didn't smack Hal with them, because that might have knocked him clean over. The bad news is now you're all puffed up and, embarrassingly, can't make your feathers smooth down on command.

You're trying for a poker face. Hal's smile has stretched with amusement into something bordering on infuriating, and you're tempted to swat him with a wing anyways. You won't, because that wouldn't be cool of you, but it's a conscious effort not to.

"Dude. A little warning before you go diving into a man's nest. This is sacred ground, you know."

"My apologies. From now on, I'll be sure to submit a twenty-four hour notice in advance." Hal says it lightly, enough so that you can't help but not-pout at him. As grossly cliche as it is, though, his smile seems to soften a bit and you find yourself relaxing for it.

"Good. I'd have to sic the HOA on you otherwise. If those even exist anymore. I fuckin' hope not actually. If we made an entire new universe and somehow managed to commit that atrocity, we might just have to start all over again."

Hal lifts one eyebrow with enough precision that you'd envy his muscle control, if he actually had muscles. "I'm afraid I'm lacking some critical info to get the joke here, broski. Dirk and I had limited access to information on Earth that was."

Ah, shit. Shit, he did, didn't he? That joke not only fell flat on its face, but it took a nose dive right into a comedy cemetery.

"The long and short of it is, HOAs sucked. And that's really all there is to say on the matter." You summarize, finally sitting yourself up for pretty much the first time today.

"Duly noted. So, shall I list everything on my computer in obnoxious, extensive detail, or would you like to just look for yourself?" Hal pulls a laptop out of his Sylladex as he speaks, leaving your nest just long enough to plug it in before reinstating himself. This time, at least, he doesn't do it abruptly. Just peacefully leans back so he's propped up against one side.

"Think I'll pass on that first one, thanks. Not like we don't have all day but you gotta be in a special mood for redundancy, ya know?"

"Be my guest, then." He shrugs and tips his head towards the screen, but doesn't actually turn it towards you. You eye the space left for you and conclude that your only options are to either hover over him awkwardly, or get up close and personal. One is kinda rude and weird, and the other is just...okay maybe a little weird? But you're not unfamiliar with this song and dance, surprisingly enough. You remember how movie nights went on the battleship, before everything went downhill.

So you slide into the space beside Hal, close enough that your shoulders are knocking together and your left wing has to curl around his back so it doesn't get in the way. He seems completely unperturbed by the new position, face just as unreadable as you hope yours is, and only now turns the screen a little more towards you. The belated gesture makes you wonder if he planned this or not. If he did, then it's a pretty damn effective way of sneaking in a bit of snuggling without having to ask first. Not that you mind, exactly. "Touch starved" is practically an under-exaggeration in your case.

Regardless of all that, you can keep your chill easily enough to scroll through his library and pick something out. He could call you out for choosing Pixar, if not for the fact that you could call him out for having it downloaded to begin with. As it stands, neither of you say anything about it and just let the intro to Wall-E play. Watching something revolving around a robot on a post-apocalyptic Earth with Hal is maybe a little on the nose, but it's perfectly acceptable levels of irony in your opinion.

This whole situation is perfectly acceptable, in fact. More than. You've almost forgotten about what started this hangout to begin with by the time the first movie plays through, and definitely have by the time you two start in on Tarzan. Possibly because you're trying (and spectacularly failing) to not poof up every time that damn leopard comes onto screen.

Hal doesn't laugh at you, but you can see that gog-damn smirk when your neck-ruff rises. You don't scowl at him, because that would be admitting to something being off, and keep your face impassive as you will the feathers to lie still. Not that that's working, but you're an expert in denial at this point.

Which is great news for you, because you absolutely didn't freeze up for a second there when you felt Hal's hand running over the back of your wing. He maybe did, because he goes stock still too, but you aren't about to hear any apologies for it. Not when what little you got felt so damn nice. So you loosen your shoulders and maybe lean against him a little more, and just like that his hand starts up again.

He's slow with it, maybe testing the waters of what you'll put up with. Which is a lot, so long as he stays that gentle. Who would've expected a guy made out of steel and silicone to have such a soft touch? But he sure as hell does, and apparently he read a book on how birds preen or something 'cause lo and behold, that is a thing he seems to be doing. A very nice feeling thing that he's doing. Fuck, you haven't preened yourself since the second year on the battleship. Not that it was ever a necessity, but it might just become one now.

"Are those noises voluntary?" Hal's question breaks you out of your thoughts, and you become keenly aware of the embarrassing warble-croons you're making. You clamp your mouth shut and choke back the next one, but it's a concerted effort, and you know your cheeks are going to be literally lighting up with a stupid blush any second now.

"No- ye- what noises." Smooth. Absolutely flawless cover. At the very least, Hal seems more amused than annoyed that you accidentally bird-talked over the movie. He isn't even paying any attention to it now, just looking at you with an expression you can't quite place. You get exactly zero warning before his free hand slides into your ruff, and you get the wonderful of experience of humiliating yourself not once, not twice, but three whole times when you let out a startled caw followed promptly by another croon when he starts gently working through the soft feathers.

Now you can name the look on that sadist's face. And it translates to sheer fuckin' delight. "_Those_ noises." He answers you smugly, and you really don't have a leg to stand on here. Or a ghost tail to float on. You've got nothing, except for bright orange cheeks and a host of embarrassing happy bird sounds that you're utterly failing at keeping in check.

"Fuck you, it's not like I can help it." You mutter, instead of some pointless attempt at saving face.

"That would be the definition of involuntary, bro." Hal smirks at you, and it's every bit as infuriating as when Bro did it, but you're having a whole lotta trouble getting appropriately miffed. That thing he's doing with his hands is pretty much hitting the off switch on any aggravation. You can't even poof up your feathers at him (not that you'd want to), 'cause he's smoothing them down and- and-

and fuck, that feels good.

You sigh and give up on maintaining dignity you don't have anyways and just let yourself lean into Hal's touch. He looks like the cat that just got the cream when you do. You aren't sure if that's because he's gone and completely ruined your coolkid front, or because he's actually enjoying the whole preening thing. At this point you don't care, so long as he keeps doing it.

At least he doesn't mock you for it, either. He seems to be perfectly content with just playing with your feathers and watching the movie. Fine by you, you'll just. Well. Sit here and try to pay attention to the dancing gorilla on screen. Key word being try, though, because you're so comfortable that you could actually fall asleep no problem.

Not that you're in the business of doing that anymore. For one thing, that's a slippery slope that you do not need to poke at. And for another, it would just be fucking rude to pass out on Hal while he's right there. So you don't let yourself fall asleep, and you sure as hell don't tell him to stop. You're sure he would, if you asked, but you don't really want him to. See again: unbelievably touch starved.

You're content to just laze wide awake and watch movies. The celebration can't hope to last as long as Hal's library, unless it runs for at least three days straight. Sounds like it dies out at midnight, though, so you're safe. Safe and pleasantly surprised that instead of packing up and calling it quits, now that you've successfully waited out the partying, Hal just gets the next show going.

There's no way a guy like him is too unobservant to miss the obvious, which means that he's just fine with hanging out for the sake of it. Your standards might be a little low if that's what gives you the warm and fuzzies, but whatever. It still feels pretty good to know that he isn't ditching at the first opportunity. At this point, you'll take what you can get.

Maybe it's selfish, but you hope you can get a whole lot more.

**Author's Note:**

> The super cute art for this fic brought to you by https://twitter.com/grayvyspeaks/status/1194806385369919488


End file.
